


a calm before a storm

by orphan_account



Series: in absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt [2]
Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mixed Messages, Unhealthy Relationships, they're not fired yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:58:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s always the same with them – there’s a moment of calm, then they slip back into that dangerous abyss of the uncertain and the unknown. And while Steve might thrive being there, Reince is so fucking tired of that fucking abyss.





	a calm before a storm

Reince doesn’t think he’s been able to breathe all week. At least, not since he’s been back at the White House from Mar-a-Lago.

The hastily-made accord he managed between Jared and Steve seems to have won him some of Trump’s affections – as temporary and fleeting as they are – and it does seem like whatever war they’re all fighting has paused.

That is, for the moment. That is, until whatever article Breitbart publishes comes out or whatever new hashtag-president comes out or whatever joke people start making next or literally anything because this president is a literal idiot and no one has any idea as to what he’s thinking at any given moment –

Reince doesn’t need to breathe. What he needs is a fucking drink.

He turns off the lights in his office and heads across the hallway, frowning when he finds that Steve’s office is vacant. He debates stepping in and invading Steve’s privacy by searching through his things to find that hidden stash of booze he has when footsteps start coming behind him.

“Reince?” Dina says. She comes from the corner, files in her arms with a blank yet stern expression. “What’re you doing here? I thought you’d gone home ages ago.”

“I’m staying until the we get news on the North Korea test,” Reince explains – and it’s partially the truth. “Thought it would be easier to just stay here in case we need to go down to the Sit Room.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s not a bad idea,” she hums. “But, I mean, it’s Easter Sunday tomorrow. Shouldn’t you be spending it with your family, at home, instead of alone at the White House?”

“I could say the same thing to you.”

“Touché.”

They’re both thinking the same thing – if one leaves the White House, even when the President’s not there, and something happens, then the other will immediately jump on it and get into the inner circle, out of the red zone – well, red zone for him, outer edges for her.

But, if both of them stay, then their stances stay the same, and neither rise but neither fall. It’s a prisoner’s dilemma, but at least this is the option with the least loss.

“Have you seen Bannon?” Reince finally asks.

Dina raises a brow, mouth curled in distaste, and no one can blame her for that kind of reaction. “What do you need him for?”

“Nothing important,” he says. He pauses for a second, then goes in for the truth. “Well, he has some booze hidden in his office and I wanted to borrow some of it. It’s been a long week.”

“Oh, fuck, I completely understand,” Dina says with a slight chuckle. “I mean, God, I’m surprised you didn’t throw up or something after Spicer’s press briefing that day.”

Reince manages a smile. “I’m surprised Gary didn’t throw something at the press room while it was happening.”

“Oh, Gary was laughing his ass off in his office,” Dina laughs. It’s a nice, light, happy sound and Reince remembers, all of a sudden, that he doesn’t hate her. That she’s not after his job or his seat or his place. That she doesn’t hate him either. That maybe, just maybe, they can get along and not be at each other’s throats.

His smile turns a little more genuine. “Well, at least Sean apologized to him too,” he says. “I mean, he did apologize, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, he did,” Dina nods. “There was a lot of begging, I think.”

Reince laughs and shakes his head. He puts a hand on the doorway and looks her over again. “What files have you got there?”

“Just some extra reading on the North Korea situation,” she tells him. “I thought I should get some of it done before the President comes back. I know K.T. is with him, but, well, it’s not like she has any viable security credentials to look at this information anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Reince nods slowly. Fuck, why didn’t he think of that? He clears his throat. “Well, uh, I’ll let you get to it, then.”

“Sounds good,” she says. She starts to turn away, but then swivels on her heel. “Oh, Reince, if you don’t find Bannon – or well, even if you do – and you want a drinking buddy, I’ve got a nice vintage in my office that I’ve been meaning to pull out.”

“I might take you up on that,” Reince chuckles meekly. “Thanks, Dina.”

“No problem.”

He watches her go, a kind of silly smile on his face. It’s been a while since someone in the White House was that nice to him – not since Katie left has he felt like anyone’s been on his side. Well, anyone except, maybe…

“You know she’s probably doing that to use against you.” Steve’s gruff voice comes from behind him and the man himself stands beside Reince, a bottle under one arm and a bag hoisted over his shoulder. He’s just in his button-down, untucked and wrinkled everywhere.

“Not everyone is out to get each other,” Reince says automatically, but it sounds like a lie even to himself. He shakes his head. “Besides, why would she want to bring me down? We’re on the same side – the establishment. If she wants to bring anyone down, it’s you.”

“She’s tethering the line between you and the globalists,” Steve says. “Whichever has more power – and it’s definitely not you.”

Reince lets out a sigh. “Steve, I’ve told you, you have got to stop calling people globalists – we’re already underwater with all that shit that happened with Sean today, we don’t want more people thinking we’re anti-Semitic.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Steve asks.

“The people, the media, everyone.”

They look at each other for a moment, Steve’s dead and dull eyes staring down into Reince’s softer and slower gaze. And then, slowly, Steve says, “I don’t care about them.”

“You keep saying,” Reince says. He crosses his arms. “Where were you?”

“Mess hall,” Steve replies. “I needed to get some tissue paper.”

“Why do you need tissue paper?”

“I’m going to go jerk off in the Oval Office.”

Reince’s brain literally stops. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before managing to speak. “I – _what_? What the _fuck_?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he says. “I mean, he’s not even there. No one will know.”

“You can’t just – you can’t do that!” Reince says, hands outstretched and grabbing the sides of his head. Fuck, he feels like he can’t breathe. Fucking Christ, who the fuck thought that this would be a good idea? Oh, _fuck_ they’re both going to get fired again, aren’t they? Fucking shit.

It’s always the same with them – there’s a moment of calm, then they slip back into that dangerous abyss of the uncertain and the unknown. And while Steve might thrive being there, Reince is so fucking tired of that fucking abyss.

There’s a clunk as the bottle hits the floor, and it takes a couple of moments after that for Reince to realize that he’s being kissed by Steve. His hands are cupping his face and his leg brushes between his thighs and the kiss is so familiar that Reince thinks he can smell the sea again.

They pull apart and Reince blinks. He can’t speak.

“You really have to stop freaking the fuck out over every little thing,” Steve says, calmly as possible.

Reince blinks again. “You just kissed me. Here. Out in the open. In the White House.”

“People already think we’re fucking,” Steve points out. “Little do they know that we only did it once, last week.”

“You – you can’t say shit like that out loud,” Reince says. His heart is hammering in his chest and he looks around to make sure no one’s around – especially not Dina. “Fuck, what if someone hears?”

“There’s one place no one can hear anything,” Steve hums.

Reince furrows his brow. “Oh, fuck, you can’t be serious…”

“Come on, Priebus,” Steve says. He puts a hand on his shoulder. “Either I say out loud what I want to do to you, or you come with me so I can show you.”

It’s a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, Reince thinks bitterly, and, of course, he chooses the devil. He picks up the bottle from the floor and drinks straight from it, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Fine.”

Steve’s grin is almost feral, like the rest of him, and he gestures for Reince to follow along as they head, down the hallway, into the office of the President.

A chill runs down Reince’s back. There are almost too many reasons to count as to why it could be. He clears his throat. “How often do you come here?” he says, then slaps his forehead.

Steve laughs. “Poor choice of words,” he says. He pulls open the door and lets Reince walk in first.

The office is the same as it had been the last time they’d been in, before Trump left for his holiday home. The lights are off but there’s some light coming in from the windows and it gives the office a more mystical feel, a more ethereal sense. More unreal than it was before, if that were even possible.

Steve closes the door behind him and there are a few seconds between him setting aside his bag and Reince putting down the bottle before they’re grabbing each other, mouths missing the first few times as they grab and bite whatever skin they can reach.

Steve leaves a mark on Reince’s collarbone and Reince digs his nails into Steve’s shoulders. They pull apart for a moment.

“Where do you want me to fuck you?” Steve asks, almost as though he’s asking where they want to eat tonight. “The desk or the seal?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere,” Reince says, then takes a moment to think about it. “Actually, I’d probably get carpet burn if we did it on the floor. And I don’t want to risk leaving a stain.”

“Desk it is, then.” Steve presses Reince up against it, undoing his belt and pulling his pants down. Reince waits, bracing himself for the burning pain of Steve shoving his wet fingers up his ass. Except that’s not what happens, because what he feels, while wet, is definitely not a finger.

It’s a tongue.

Reince’s mind shuts down. It’s less the sensation and more the thought – that Steve Bannon, (supposedly) one of the most powerful men in America, is on his knees and eating out his ass – that gets him hard and wanting. And then Steve presses a finger inside and Reince grips the desk even tighter. He takes a hand and tries to rub himself but a hand swats it away.

“You’re not going to fucking come,” Steve says, voice deep and gravelly. “Not until I’ve fucked you.” It’s almost a growl and Reince has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing because all he can think about is that Maggie Haberman and Glenn Thrush article.

He settles for a smirk. “Then fuck me,” he says. “Fuck me, Mr. President.”

That’s what does it. Steve gets to his feet and Reince grips the desk with both hands when he hears the rip of the condom, and then Steve’s shoving himself inside of him and it hurts as much as it did the last time but if he didn’t care then, he sure as fuck doesn’t care now.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says, voice breathless. “Go ahead, sir, go ahead and fuck me.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Steve huffs, but he does start pushing further, gripping Reince’s hips, right where the scars from last time haven’t quite yet healed.

They’re both so fucking predictable, aren’t they, Reince thinks. “Of course, you don’t,” he says aloud. “You’re the leader. The boss. The President. And I’m just the hole you’re fucking into.”

There’s an inaudible grunt that Steve gives, almost as though he’s said something, but then he’s pounding into him and Reince’s arms begin to shake. A hand leaves his hips and grabs his dick and he lets out a low moan.

“Oh yeah,” he breathes. “Oh yeah, fucking give it to me. Fuck me against this fucking desk. God, I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”

Steve bites the side of his neck until he draws blood and Reince screams as he comes.

He’s all but covered in sweat, head rested on the desk and chest digging into the edge and he waits until Steve has pulled out before pulling up his pants and buckling them. A trail of blood trickles down from his neck and down the side of his shirt.

Steve clears his throat. “Do you… I can get a bandage.”

“I can get one myself,” Reince replies, sounding a little curt. He swallows hard and turns around. “It’s fine. It’ll heal soon.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in his expression that almost seems… apologetic. It takes a moment for Reince to realize this because he’s never seen that expression on Steve’s face and it looks so unfamiliar. It’s as though the nationalistic and egotistic mask slipped off for a moment – this moment – and there’s a real human behind it.

There’s a lurching feeling in Reince’s chest as their eyes meet and Steve’s hand is extended and their faces are close, so close, and Reince think’s they’re going to kiss again.

And then, from somewhere on the floor, a phone buzzes.

They both bend down to get it but Steve picks it up first. He clicks it on as he stands up straight. "Huh," he says. "A text from Sally and... and a Twitter notification from Maggie Haberman." He narrows his eyes. "You get her notifications delivered to you?"

Reince snatches his phone from his hands, shoving it into his pocket. "That's none of your business. She's a good journalist."

"The journalists are the ones who are our enemies, Priebus," Steve huffs. He crosses his arms. "We're at war with them, or have you forgotten?"

"Seriously?" Reince scoffs. "Fuck, Steve, you think you're at war with everybody. That's because you hate everybody and everybody hates you."

"Do you hate me?"

The question comes as a surprise to him and, for a moment, Reince isn't sure if he's supposed to respond at all. He starts heading for the door, but then Steve calls after him.

"Reince," he says, and it's the first time he's said his first name around him, "do you hate me?"

Reince is silent for a moment. "You hate me," he says, simple as that. He adds a shrug for good measure. "You can go back to, I dunno, jerking off. I'll see you later, probably." He closes the door behind him and doesn't look back.

And, maybe, a part of him wants Steve to rush out and try to – what, confess his affections? Admit to having feelings? Kiss him?

Fuck, he has no idea what he wants, does he? Neither of them do. And that's what's really fucked up about this whole thing.

He heads back to his office and closes the door, changing into a different pair of pants. And then, once he's got those on, he takes his phone. He doesn't reply to Sally's message, but instead sends one to Dina.

_Still up for that drink?_

_If you bring your own glass_ , she replies, moments later.

 _And if I don't?_ he asks.

_Then you'll find out._

It's a little flirty, a little nice, and Reince sprays his body with air freshener to mask the scent of Steve before he heads upstairs. The door to her office is open and he closes it behind him.

There's a pile of files on her desk, along with a bottle of wine and a single glass to go along with it. Dina's leaned back in her chair, legs folded over one another as she smiles at him. "What happened to looking for Bannon?" she asks him.

"I don't care about Bannon," Reince says, plain and simple, and he wonders if she knows that it’s part of a lie. He takes a second and glances at the clock she has, hanging on the wall. It's almost eleven.

It's probably not even the last lie he's going to say all day.

**Author's Note:**

> The question isn't "will I write a sequel to this?" but rather, "will that sequel be Bannon/Priebus, Priebus/Howell, or both?" Let me know what you think.
> 
> Another question is, "why am i writing this during finals week for an audience of me?" but that question has no answer.


End file.
